


Expiration Date

by Istealurfrenchfries



Series: I Spy [3]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alex is Just Doing His Best, Angst, Blind!John AU, Car Accidents, Funeral, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, John's Having a Hard Time, M/M, Physical Therapy, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2018-12-02 20:16:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11516661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Istealurfrenchfries/pseuds/Istealurfrenchfries
Summary: “They’re having the funeral back in South Carolina,” John breathed, face creased with worry, “It’s in a week.”--Martha's funeral finally comes around, and John will have to face all the demons he left back in South Carolina.





	1. Gone

**Author's Note:**

> Not 100% sure with my use of physical therapy here. I couldn't find much information on this kind of situation, so I did my best. I am so not a doctor.

Alex sat in the waiting room for the physical therapy office.  He sat in a chair off in the corner, strategically placing himself away from everyone else in the room.  The floor was a disgusting grey repeating square pattern that made him want to throw up. It reminded him far too much of the night he’d spent in the emergency room waiting room, wondering whether he’d ever see his boyfriend alive again.  

Alex took a deep breath and pushed away the deja-vu induced nausea climbing up his throat.  

_Breathe, Alex. John is alive.  John is breathing.  John is okay._

Physical therapy.  He was only in physical therapy.  His doctors were trying to increase the mobility of his healing femur whilst jointly working on balance and mechanisms to adapt to the loss of his sight.  They were only a few sessions in and it was already a nightmare.  While John’s leg wasn’t healed enough to justify the successful use of a probing cane yet, he had graduated to a walking cast.  He had blatantly refused to wait until his femur was completely healed to go ahead with physical therapy.  While Alex was usually the more stubborn of the two, he found it easier not to get in the way on this one.  He was fairly sure that John wasn’t supposed to start therapy this early, but no one asked him.

And so he came with him to every appointment and session, waited while John was forced to relearn how to walk again, and listened to him rant about how stupid the staff was and how they didn’t deserve to call themselves doctors.  

“Alexander Hamilton?”

The sound of his name being called brought Alex out of his reverie.  He glanced up at the nurse who brought John out from his session, and winced when he saw his boyfriend being pushed in a wheelchair.  John held himself stiffly with his arms crossed over his chest.  His eyes were shut, his jaw clenched, and his chin dropped toward his chest.  It was still strange to see such a dejected look on John’s usually upbeat face.  Alex nodded and dutifully took the nurse’s place behind the wheelchair.  

“Do..do you want to try to walk out to the car?” Alex ventured to ask.  He’d borrowed Eliza’s stupid expensive cherry red Audi so they didn’t have to fuss with trying to coordinate getting John into an Uber.  The last driver had made some insensitive comment about John being an invalid and it had taken every ounce of Alex’s very poor self control not to throat punch the guy.  This was just better for the both of them.

“No, just take me outside,” John muttered at his lap, and Alex had to pause for a moment to make sure he’d heard correctly.  John had always fought against being wheeled around, instead opting for Alex to serve as both a guide and someone to take the weight off of his leg.  So far, at least, Alex hadn’t dropped him, so there was that.  He shrugged and nodded, pushing him toward the exit.  

It wasn’t until they were transferring to the car and Alex had to practically pick John up(his boyfriend was endlessly cute and hot, but rather surprisingly heavy.  Or maybe Alex was just weak) that he realized how bad he must be feeling.  The low hiss of a gasp that left John’s gritted teeth as he finally settled into the passenger seat only solidified his conclusion.  

“John?  Hey,” Alex bent down a little and brushed the back of his hand against John’s cheek.  His skin was hot and clammy with sweat, “What’s your pain at right now, hm?”

“Mm,” John grunted, shifting restlessly, “Eight.”  Alex winced and forced himself to take a breath.  

“When’s the last time you took your tramadol?”

“Lunch, like always.  I can’t have anymore for a few hours,” John’s voice was arid and exhausted, “I fucking hate physical therapy.  I keep falling because I can’t fucking _see_ , and my DPT is a Goddamn idiot and won’t listen when I say that it fucking _hurts_.”

Alex pushed a curl that had escaped John’s hair-tie back off of his face and listened.  He thought that after his mother’s death, he’d know how to deal with injury and bad health.  But no, he still felt just as helpless as before watching the person he loved sit in pain.

“I know, baby,” he murmured, but he didn’t dare suggest that John just wait the few weeks for his cast to come off.  He leaned his forehead against John’s for several moments, until his back began to ache from being bent like that and he was forced to back up and stand straight.  He closed the passenger door(gently, of course.  Eliza would murder him if he so much as thought about slamming her car door).  He pushed the wheelchair back into the clinic and then rushed back out into the parking garage.  John wasn’t glaring at the air and cursing wildly when he came back, but instead had his head tipped back against the custom leather seat and his eyes clenched shut.  

“Headache?” Alex inquired as he started the car and stretched the seatbelt over his chest.

“Everything,” John scoffed, but sighed only a few seconds later, “Yeah. Bad one.”

“Do you want to take a nap when we get home?”  Alex pulled out onto the highway.  He drove five miles below the speed limit, partly because he wanted to be careful with Eliza’s Audi, but mostly because he wanted John to feel safe.  Even though he technically couldn't see the speedometer or their surrounding traffic, John had been in a major car accident only a couple months prior.  Maybe he wouldn’t admit it, but Alex could always see the tension tugging at John’s face every time they got into a vehicle.  Alex ignored the cars passing him.

“What the fuck else is there to do?”

Alex considered trying to list out the things that John could still do, but thought better of it.  Even his own tactless mannerisms could see the insult in that.  Instead, he tried for reasoning.

“Well, the doctor did want you to try to work on coping m-”

“Fuck the doctor,” John cut him off, and Alex bit back the sharp retort on his own tongue.  He was not a patient man, but he was getting better at pulling every ounce of his self control together to keep himself from snapping.  He stared hard at the road and pulled in a measured breath.  Then let it go.  He could do this.  He could navigate through his boyfriend’s blind anger toward everything and everyone.

“Well, yeah, fuck him,” he amended.  He’d met the physical therapy DBT, and yeah, he was a bit of a dipshit. Dr. Scott.  Always upbeat about life when John’s was falling apart.  However, John’s sight wasn’t coming back, and they were going to have to adjust.  “Fine.  What do you _want_ to do?”  

Silence.  Alex snuck a glance over toward the other side of the car.  John had his head leaned up against the window.  His hands, which had been fidgeting wildly for the past several minutes, were now stilled in his lap.  

It wasn’t until he’d turned his attention back to the road that he received an answer.

“I want to go back to work,” John mumbled so low that Alex nearly didn’t hear him, “I want to watch angioplasties and assist with coronary artery bypass grafts, even though those are like the most boring of heart procedures.  I want to have a thirty-six hour shift and be so tired that I’m shaking with it when I come home.  I want you to yell at me to go shower because I smell like antiseptic and you hate the smell of antiseptic.  I want you to not have to be used to the smell of hospitals now, because I know it makes you anxious.”  

Slowly, John’s voice grew more confident. He never got loud, but now Alex could hear him clearly, could hear the painful longing in his tone.  He didn’t dare interrupt him.

“I want to draw.  I want to force you to sit down for an hour just so I can draw you.  I like drawing your hair and your eyes.  I haven’t picked up a pencil in forever,” he continued with a heaving breath, “I want to fuck you.  I want to have sex and be able to fucking _see_ you when you come, and I want my whole body to stop hurting when I so much as breathe.”

John’s head dropped back against the window.

“I want to do everything that I can’t.”

The low hum of the heater filled the car.  Alex didn’t have anything to say.  There was nothing to say.  He had opinions, sure, but none of them would help.  None of his brilliance with words would fix what had been wronged for John.  

So he didn’t say anything.  He hummed in quiet acknowledgement and drove on. He flipped his blinker on and turned onto their exit.

“How pissed would you be if I broke all of those old plates and shit that we have in the spare room?”  

The question was so random that Alex nearly found himself chuckling with nervous surprise.  He cleared his throat, contemplating his words.

“It’s gonna hurt,” he said instead, his tone very carefully nonchalant.  Honestly, John was _just_ complaining about hurting all the time.

“I know,” John said, undeterred, “but you asked me what I wanted to do.”

“And you want to break defenseless ceramic?”

“Yes.”

Alex shrugged.

“Go for it.”

And so when they got home, Alex helped John into their spare, unused bedroom, set out all the offending items, and left him to it.  He didn’t even remember where they’d acquired them from.  The china was too expensive to be from John’s family or his own, and Alex had brought no such thing with him to America anyways.  Maybe one of the Schuyler sisters had gifted them at some point.  It didn’t make a difference now.

Alex sat at their tiny kitchen table.  His laptop and word document was open in front of him, but he wasn’t really working on anything.  Instead, he was listening to the sound of plates and bowls shattering and John cursing wildly through the walls.  It would make a mess.  The floor was likely going to get scratched all to hell.  The neighbors downstairs were probably already calling their landlord and complaining about the noise.  He didn’t care.

Alex was very pointedly trying not to hover.  He didn’t deal with sickness of any kind well.  It reminded him too much of Nevis.  It reminded him far too much of his mother.  He thought that by now he would have stopped worrying that he was about to lose John, but no.  He still had to remind himself at least three times a day that John was still here with him.  That John was still breathing.  That John wasn’t going to die.  That he wasn't going to wake up and find John covered in blood with a still chest.

Up until now, Alex’s nightmares had always been about his childhood.  The hurricane, his mother dying, his father leaving, living on the streets.  Now they were about John.  In his dreams, he sat in the waiting room while John was in surgery, except he never stopped waiting.  He waited and waited and waited and no one would tell him anything for hours and hours(or was it days?).  And finally, he would sneak into the operating room himself, only to find John alone and cold and dead on the table with no one around to help him.  

But John didn’t need to know about Alex’s dreams.  John was having his own nightmares and Alex wasn’t going to complicate things further with his.  

“Alex?”

Alex picked his head up.  He’d been so deep in his own head that he hadn’t noticed the absence of noise in the apartment.  He stood up and padded toward the spare room.  Peeking in through the doorway, he found John standing unsteadily in the middle of hundreds of broken shards of ceramic.  His face was red and sweaty, and his breath left him in harsh pants.  His body had to be killing him.  

“Feel any better?”  He leaned against the doorframe, waiting to approach in case John suddenly decided that he wasn’t done yet and needed to destroy more things.

“Not really,” John sighed.  A big, heaving breath.  His words were thick with disappointment and his voice was hoarse. “But I’m really tired now.”

“Dinner?”

A pause.

“Dinner.”

Alex stepped forward and took John’s hands to help lead him out of the room.  He was unendingly grateful that the both of them were still wearing shoes.  Fixing up and cleaning lacerated feet were not on his to-do list anytime soon.  

* * *

 

Alex counted the freckles on John’s face as they laid in bed after eating takeout.  He’d ordered Chinese food (orange chicken for him, an abundance of eggrolls for John), they’d showered, and then retired to bed. It was pointless, really.  He already knew how many freckles John had on his face - 57 - but the action was therapeutic.  Alex preferred logic; tangible objects that he could count and read and write about.  It made dealing with life just a little easier.  

Except now John couldn’t tell when he counting.  He wouldn’t laugh and poke fun at him for it.  Alex wouldn’t blush when he was caught staring intensely at John face.  

“Martha’s mother called during my session,” John stated randomly.  Alex stilled, pulling his attention away from John’s 33rd freckle.  

Alright, so perhaps John’s mood after physical therapy did have to do with a little more than just balance exercises and Dr. Scott’s annoying attitude.

“Yeah?” he asked, keeping his tone very carefully blank.  They had yet to really talk about Martha.  The last they’d heard from her family was that they wanted to wait to have the funeral until everyone could attend.  But, of course, they couldn’t hide from this forever.

“They’re having the funeral back in South Carolina,” John breathed, face creased with worry, “It’s in a week.”

Alex was glad that John wouldn’t see his face drop.  He knew damn well what kind of shitty memories South Carolina had provided for his boyfriend.  But he wouldn't dare suggest that he not go.  Not going simply wasn’t an option.

“Okay,” he murmured, voice soft and non-intrusive.  Alex was relentless and temperamental, but he knew that this wasn’t a topic to force himself into.  “We’ll get you a plane ticket out there.” John suddenly stiffened in his arms.

“You're not coming?”

“Do you want me to?" Alex asked uncertainly, "Your father will probably be there, and he hates me.  I just don't want to make this harder for-"

“I want you to come,” John cut him off firmly, but Alex heard the hint of desperation in his voice. He kissed him in an effort to soothe away the worry.

“Then I'll come," he said simply.  John’s arms tightened around his waist, and Alex ran a hand down his spine, counting his vertebrates.

“Thank you," John breathed, but Alex only shook his head.

“You don't need to thank me.  I'm in this with you, John.  I'm on your side," he said, “One thing at a time, remember?"  John relaxed then, and Alex’s efforts even brought forth a tiny, relieved smile. Alex would do anything in his power to keep him smiling, no matter how faint it might be.

“I remember.”

“Come on,” Alex kissed his forehead, “Let’s get some sleep.”  

They both knew that Alex had his laptop hidden under the blankets a foot away.  They both knew that he was putting his classes on hold and taking more independent pieces to compensate for John’s sudden loss of income.  They both knew that just because he was spending more time in bed with John, it didn’t mean he was sleeping.  They both ignored it. Some things would never change.


	2. Hard Road to Travel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I know,” Alex murmured in a hushed voice. He reached forward to fix John’s collar and smooth his hair out. “I know. You’re okay.”
> 
> He wasn’t, but pretending never hurt anyone.
> 
> \--  
> John faces his family back in South Carolina, and Alex is reminded of exactly how much he hates plane rides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's been a hot minute since we've had an update. Sorry about that, trying to get into college tends to take quite a bit of energy. On the upside, I managed to get a full academic ride to my second-choice school(fuck yeah for not failing?). 
> 
> And I wasn't going to post now, but then I found this saved on my docs, and I think I had wanted to add something else, but for the life of me cannot remember what that something else was. 
> 
> So, ah, here you go.

Alex didn’t like plane rides.  No, actually, Alex  _ hated  _ plane rides. 

They didn’t scare him.  He wasn’t afraid of crashing or dying or something equally tragic that could possibly happen on airplane.  It was the whole ‘flying’ part that made him feel like his head was being shoved into a dryer and spun on the highest setting.  He was hot and dizzy and uncomfortable.

He squeezed  his eyes shut and pressed his head back against the headrest when someone on the intercom announced the incoming turbulence.  It wasn’t even severe, really, but enough to make his stomach roll dangerously. He clenched his jaw. 

Alexander Hamilton was determined when it came to a lot of things.  Grades, work, politics. Right now, he was determined not to vomit, an endeavor that wasn’t going quite so well for him. 

Alex hadn’t even realized that he had a deathgrip on the armrest until there was a hand loosening his fingers and massaging them until they relaxed.  He glanced over at John. John, who apparently didn’t even need to see to know his distress. Alex didn’t know he was that transparent, but the man in a three piece business suit who was clearly leaning away from him on his other side proved otherwise.  

Whatever.  Who the fuck wore three piece business suits on a place anyway?

“Sick?” John inquired in that weird calm doctor voice he used sometimes, except now it was tinged with a little familial concern too.

Alex made a disgruntled noise as the next series of shudders and shakes took over the aircraft.  Somewhere a few seats back, a child started crying. His head pounded. 

“Did you take a dramamine?”

“Mm-hm,” Alex managed.

“Is it helping?”

“No,” he scowled.  His stomach rolled and tensed and he was sure that he was about to be sick.  He was going to be  _ that  _ person.  Alex’s hand started to clench into a fist again, but John kept kneading until he stopped.

“Breathe,” he instructed in a whisper that insured no one else could hear them.  Alex pulled in a ragged breath as far as he could, then slowly released it. The strong urge to vomit lessened.  

The shaking slowed down, the seatbelt lights flipped off, and Alex sighed and sagged against his seat.  Fuck this. 

“Sorry, Alex,” John voiced floated back toward him.  He sounded a little guilty, and Alex took the moment to remind himself why he was doing this.

Martha’s funeral was tomorrow.  John had to be in South Carolina, and if he had to be there, then Alex had to be there.  Alex had agreed to this. 

Navigating John through the busy airport and boarding the plane had been surprisingly easy.  They’d arrived with plenty of time due to his own pressing need for being punctual. John had been forced to use a wheelchair, much to his annoyance.  Alex had gotten them bulkhead seat with more room. All that had been relatively painless, considering the situation. Trying to sit through the fucking ride himself was not.  And this was only the beginning of a long few days. 

“It’s okay,” he murmured, dropping his head against John shoulder and ignoring the blatant judgemental look of a middle aged lady from across the aisle.  He hated everyone today. Well, to be fair, Alexander hated most people most days, but this fact was especially prominent today. 

“Alex….Alex?”  

Alex snuffled sleepily into his pillow.  He’d finally gotten into a real, deep sleep a few hours beforehand, one that didn’t involve dreams of the people he loved dying.  It had been so long since he’d properly slept, and he swore that he’d never, ever take sleep for granted again. Sleep was wonderful.  Sleep was great. Sleeping with John was amazing. Getting to smell John’s cologne while he slept was even better. 

“Alex…” His name was called slightly louder, and drew him from his sleep fully.  At first awakening, Alex was puzzled by his surroundings. The sheets weren’t the right color, the door wasn’t in the right spot, and there were far too many pillows on the mattress. 

Oh, right. Hotel.  They were in South Carolina.  Martha’s funeral was tomorrow. 

Alex sat up and belatedly realized that his boyfriend wasn’t in bed with him at all, and his name wasn’t so much a call as it was a whine.  

“John?” Alex frowned and tossed the comforter back to climb out of bed.  He blearily flipped on the lamp on the bedside table and rubbed at his eyes.  “Baby?” 

Where the fuck was his boyfriend?

“Alex?”  John’s voice was meek, and it took a moment for Alex to realize its origin.  He eased open the door to the room’s connecting bathroom.

Alex felt around the wall until he found a switched and flipped the light on.  He squinted at the sudden brightness, and then immediately found John. He was sitting on the floor, back to the wall and legs sprawled out in front of him.  His position wasn’t what immediately concerned Alex - what worried him was how disoriented John looked. He jerked his head a little when the door swung open.  His eyes were open, but looked around wildly as they fruitlessly attempted to focus on anything. He resembled the bobblehead that Alex had seen on display at the airport giftshop earlier, except so much more miserable.  This was something that would go away as John adjusted, Dr. Ross had mentioned. Alex hoped that she was right. 

“Alex?” John croaked out again, hanging his head and looking completely out of his element.  “...Alex?”

Any sleep deprivation he might’ve still been feeling completely went away and Alexander darted forward to crouch down in front of John. 

“Hey, hey,” he murmured, reaching out to take his hand, “I’m here, baby.”  

John first flinched at the contact, but before Alex had the time to consider pulling away, John was launching himself forward and throwing his arms around him.  Alex nearly fell backwards with the added weight, but managed to steady them both and hold John against him. 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, and now that he was in his arms, Alex could feel how bad John was shaking.  His shoulders were trembling. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“John, slow down,” he soothed, trying to figure out just what the hell was wrong.  “Why are you sorry, honey?” 

John’s shaking intensified for a few moments, and Alex enveloped him tighter in his arms.  He smoothed his bed ridden curls back with a gentle hand and pressed a kiss to his temple. John swallowed.

“What time is it?” he asked, and while it wasn’t an answer to Alex’s question, it was something.  Alex glanced at the clock on the opposite wall. He hadn’t even thought to check when he’d first woken up.

“Almost three in the morning,” he replied and tried not to notice as John shuddered.  Though, of course, he did. He stroked a hand down his back. “Seriously, John, what happened?”  

“I had to piss and didn’t want to wake you up.  You don’t sleep enough as it is,” he finally muttered with an air of embarrassment, “And I was fine until I tried to come back to bed, but the door isn’t where it usually is and I got turned around weird and couldn’t find anything, and my leg fucking hurts-”

“So you sat down?” Alex asked in a gentle voice.  John gave a scoff that sounded a lot like an hysterical sob.  

“I wasn’t going to, but my eyes are open and I can’t see and it makes me so fucking dizzy,” he said through clenched teeth, like he was so thoroughly disgusted with his own actions, “And then I started stumbling and just..I don’t know.”

“You got scared?” Alex suggested, and by the way John bristled and stiffened offensively at the word told him that he’d guessed correctly.  “It’s okay to be scared, you know.” That was really hypocritical coming from him, but still. Alex wasn’t very good at this, but he was trying.

“I’m a grown ass man.  I shouldn’t be afraid because I can’t see,” he muttered, but it was weak.  Embarrassed. 

“You’re a grown ass man who survived a car crash and is coming to terms with a big change.  It’s absolutely acceptable to be afraid.”

“It’s weak.”   Alex frowned. 

“What do you always say to me when I’m scared and panicking?”  he asked patiently, brushing those curls back yet again. John hesitated.  

“It’s different.”

“No, it’s not,” he insisted softly, “Come on, what is it that you always say to me?”

“...that it’s okay to be scared,” John begrudgingly answered, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Alex’s shoulder,  “It doesn’t make you weak.”

“Mmhm,” Alexander hummed and smiled even though John couldn’t see it.  “It’s okay to be scared, baby. And you don’t have to be sorry for that.”

“You’re always sorry for it,” he pointed out, and Alex sighed. 

“Yeah, well, I’m trying not to be.”

John went quiet for a bit, and Alex rubbed a hand down his shoulder and kneaded circles into his back. 

“Martha’s funeral is today,” John mumbled numbly.  Alex nodded.

“Yeah, it is.”

“I’m gonna fuck it up,” he said in a strained voice.  Alex made a noise of disagreement.

“It’s hard to fuck up a funeral, love.  Everyone there is already in a bad mood.”  Perhaps that was insensitive, but John just nodded. 

They stayed that way, curled up, until Alex noticed him shivering.  He started to sit up.

“C’mon, turtle.  Time for sleep,” he let the endearment slip out.  He’d first called John that a year or two ago, poking fun at the other man’s love for drawing turtles, but John had fallen in love with the nickname.  Alex felt his heart clench a little. John would never get to draw again.

Luckily, John didn’t shy from the name and what it meant though.  If anything, he seemed to relax in his arms at the small sense of normalcy that it brought.  He nodded and used both Alex and the wall to stand up. And slowly, they made their way back into the bedroom.  John’s steps were shaky and unnatural, and Alex bit his lip. 

“I’m sorry,” John mumbled again once they was situated on the bed, though his voice had lost its edge of panic.

“Shut up.” Alex muttered sleepily as he curled up against his side and laid his head on John’s chest, listening to his heartbeat and reminding himself that he was alive.  “Just sleep.”

Alex hasn’t said much so far at the wake, but he continuously guided John around as he spoke to various family members.  He didn’t know any of them and there were people staring at him like he was some sort of intruder, a stranger in an intimate place where he clearly didn’t belong, but that was okay.  John wanted him here, and so he was here. He may not have known Martha, but John loved her, so Alex did too.

The sight of mourning people and a casket made him anxious and uncomfortable, but he couldn’t quite figure out why.  It reminded him of his mother in a way, but that was simply ridiculous. His mother hadn’t even gotten a proper funeral.  She’d been buried by two townsmen who couldn’t have cared less, and her eulogy had been performed by a heartbroken twelve year old alone beside her grave.  Her headstone had been made up of a flat piece of rock that he’d found behind their house. 

Perhaps it was because he knew that John was distressed.  Yes, that was it. John’s face was carefully blank and emotionless, and yet his entire demeanor was tight and uncomfortable, like an E-string on a violin that was tuned far too sharp.  Alex hated it - he loathed to find a problem that he couldn’t fix, and there was no making this better. He couldn’t bring her back.

“Alex,” John’s voice cut in and Alexander’s gaze snapped up to him and an older couple standing in front of them.  They were both crying and holding on to each other as if the world had ended. Well, for them, the world had practically just ended.  Martha’s parents. 

Alex swallowed.  He’d never been any good at dealing with other people’s emotions. 

“Alexander Hamilton,” he held out his hand and painted a small, fake smile on his face.  “I’m John’s roommate.” They’d agreed early on that they’d keep their relationship on the low for the trip to South Carolina.  It may have made Alex feel like someone’s dirty secret, but that was alright. It felt familiar in a way he didn’t particularly like, like slipping on a pair of soiled jeans.  

“Jacky,” a distinctively female spoke out over the quiet murmurs, and John’s mouth curved into what looked like an attempt at a smile.  

“Mary.”

A young, short women approached with a tentative smile and an expression that might’ve happy under better circumstances.  She stopped right in front of John and gave him a searching look.

“So it’s true?” She started.  Now that she was closer, Alex could see the resemblance between her and John.  “You can’t..”

“See?” John finished with a fidgety look. His hand clenched with frustration.  “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”  John just shrugged.  Alex saw him swallow.

“My sight isn’t what you should be sorry for.”  They all winced, and Mary glanced around the room around them.  The gross carpet floor, the small windows, the smell of sweat and mourning.

“I know.  This is all just..” she blew out a breath, “..horrible.  But I missed you, Jacky. Just wish I was seeing you somewhere other than a funeral home.”  

John’s sister took a step forward and pulled him into a hug.  He stiffened for a moment, then slowly wrapped his arms around Mary’s shoulders.

“I missed you too, Mary.”

Alex stood awkwardly to the side.  He couldn’t help it. He’d never really had a family, so this kind of thing was abnormal to him.  Mary seemed to notice him though.

“Who’s your friend?” She pulled away. Alex stared at the floor, focusing on just how fucking ugly those circle designs were.  He hated this.

“That’s Alex.  He’s my roommate in New York,” John answered, having apparently taken notice of Alex’s silence.  Mary arched an eyebrow and looked between them with a knowing expression. 

“Right,” she straightened, “Well, dad’s here somewhere.”  Mary’s voice lowered in something that sounded a lot like a warning.  Of course, that’s what it was. “He’ll want to talk to you.”

“Fantastic,” John sighed.  

“Yeah, I know.  Look, I have to go find James.  I’ll see you in a bit.”

“John,” a deep voice was calling from behind them, and John stilled. Alex noticed as he held his breath.

A large middle aged man approached them, and Alex didn’t need John to introduce him. The man looked so similar to John.  Their jawlines were the same, their freckles, their stature. But instead of John’s soft hazel eyes, his father’s eyes were hard and cold.  Alex stiffened and he resisted the urge to step between John and his father. 

“Who is this, then?  Your boyfriend?” Henry sneered in Alexander’s direction, and Alex bit his tongue as the air heated around him.  He’d taken a lot of shit from older men in Nevis, had been at the unlucky end of slurs and insults too many times to count.  When he came to America, he’d sworn to himself never to allow that to happen again. It was why he got into so many fights, really.  

But this was Martha’s funeral.  John didn’t need to deal with that.  Alex took a measured breath. 

“He’s my roommate and my friend,” John interjected with a very carefully placed calm in his tone, “He’s also helping me.  In case you haven’t noticed, I can’t see.” 

“Don’t speak to me like that,” Henry hissed, and Alex protectively inched closer to John.  The man’s eyes followed his movement and glared, but Alex only stared back defiantly. “Blind people have legs.  They can walk just fine on their own.”

“Yeah, car accident injuries will do that to a person,” Alex muttered, ignoring the cold glare that was shot in his direction.  Perhaps for the first time, Henry seemed to finally notice the walking cast on John’s leg, the way he shifted every now and then in discomfort, how he slumped against Alex just slightly. 

It wasn’t that Alex doubted John’s ability to walk, it was that he literally fucking couldn’t right now.  Honestly.

“I don’t care.  He’s not family.  He shouldn’t be here,” was the last thing that was said before the larger man stormed off.  

“Fucking asshole,” Alex muttered under his breath.  When he glanced at John though, his boyfriend’s face was twisted into a look of discomfort. “John?” he asked, “Hey, what is it?  What hurts?” He very nearly reached out to squeeze his hand, but thought against it at the last moment. 

“Bathroom,” John muttered and shook his head, “Now.”

Alex didn’t argue.  He led him into the restrooms and locked the door.  They barely made it in before John was collapsing against him.

“I can’t do it.  Jesus, I can’t fucking do it,” John was muttering into Alex’s neck.  

“John, sweeth-”

“I thought I could,” his voice hitched, “I thought I could see him again.  It’s been years. He knows I’m gay. I don’t live here. It doesn’t matter what he thinks anymore, you know?  But,  _ goddammit _ , I can’t even see him and he’s making this harder.”

Alex ran his hand up John’s back, up his neck, and through his hair.  With his other hand, he held his boyfriend close. He felt John’s heartbeat against his own chest, hammering away with no particular rhythm.  

“You can,” he murmured, resting his chin on top of John’s head, “You can do it, and you will.  You don’t have another choice.” Perhaps not the most comforting words he could’ve said in the moment, but they didn’t really have the time for comforting.  There was a beat of silence.

“I know,” John let out a slow exhale.  And then, as if he’d just realized the risks of their position in such a public area, he pulled away from the embrace.  “Alright, I’m fine now. I’m sorry, I just..”

“I know,” Alex murmured in a hushed voice.  He reached forward to fix John’s collar and smooth his hair out.  “I know. You’re okay.”

He wasn’t, but pretending never hurt anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe sorta kinda worth the wait? I've definitely gotta do some work on mapping out my plot points all over again(because I'm an idiot and forgot them over the course of several months), but I do plan on sticking with this series.
> 
> Comment if you're still here?

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always welcome!
> 
> istealurfrenchfries.tumblr.com - I'm always available there!


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